


Love Dares You

by Rynne



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Basically Talking and Cuddling, Conversations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, It's All About the Cuddling, M/M, Missing Scene, Pillow Talk, Post-Bus Ride (Good Omens), Sharing a Bed, There's Only One Bed in Crowley's Flat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 21:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynne/pseuds/Rynne
Summary: The world hasn't ended. Crowley and Aziraphale still have to face their respective employers, but for now, there are things that are far more pressing. Things like napping together, important confessions, and quite a lot of cuddling really.





	Love Dares You

**Author's Note:**

> I have loved the book for something like 15 years, and then the show came out and I was filled with joy. Coming back to this fandom after so long, with such an amazing TV adaptation, is incredible. I love everyone in this bar.
> 
> Obligatory Queen lyric title is, of course, from Under Pressure.
> 
> Thank you so much to Starbit for looking it over!

Aziraphale is holding his hand.

The bus drives on, its every vibration a reminder of the steadying presence at his side, holding his hand. It's dark, but plenty of cars share the road to London with them, despite the late hour. There is no sign that the M25 had ever been a ring of hellfire.

Crowley almost wants to say something, but he's pretty sure nothing coherent would come out of his mouth now. He's had longer days, but this one is up there, and contained more personal grief and physical distress than he's used to. And Aziraphale is still holding his hand.

He doesn't let go, not even as the bus arrives, its driver blinking confusion, in Mayfair and the two of them step down. Crowley heads to his building on autopilot, ushers Aziraphale to the perpetually-broken lift that still knows well enough to get them to the penthouse.

It's only when he finally closes his door behind them that words even sort of come. "I. I'm done in," he admits, pulling off his sunglasses and tossing them in the little bowl he keeps for them. "I know we still have to decide what to do about our...respective employers, but."

"I should say so," Aziraphale murmurs. He finally lets go of Crowley's hand, flexing his fingers before clasping them in front of him like he's not sure what to do with them. "I confess I'm not at my best, either."

Crowley stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets, flattens his fingers against his thighs. "I've just the one bed, but you're welcome to it," he says. "I don't know that I have enough left in me to make another right now, but you're also welcome to do that, if you'd rather."

"I wouldn't want to put you out," Aziraphale replied, closing his eyes and pulling up a gentle smile. "I'd be happy to share, if you don't mind."

_Don't mind _ is an understatement. Crowley leads the way to his bedroom. Lamps switch on at a pleasingly soft glow as he enters. Normally he'd sleep naked, but a gesture transforms his usual clothes into a plain black singlet and shorts. Without words, Aziraphale miracles himself his own nightshirt as his clothes appear on top of Crowley's dresser.

Aziraphale is here, in Crowley's flat, in Crowley's _ bedroom_, about to get into bed with him. Crowley wishes he could do anything to mark the occasion other than simply fixing it in his memory, the surprising, quiet comfort of it, but he's too tired. He simply gets into bed, scoots over to the left, and lets Aziraphale climb in beside him.

He drops off to sleep nearly immediately, listening to Aziraphale's breathing and feeling the warmth of him along his side.

He wakes again some four hours later, feeling much better and far less foggy-headed. He thinks about going back to sleep -- not that he needs it now, but he does still enjoy it so -- but feels eyes on him, and turns his head to meet Aziraphale's gaze.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" Aziraphale murmurs. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, just woke up." Crowley stretches a little, careful not to infringe into Aziraphale's space. "Did you sleep?"

"For about an hour, I think. Thank you for lending me your bed, dear boy. I really rather needed that."

Crowley gives a dismissive "Mmmnerg" and blinks, slowly. The lamps are off, but Aziraphale's face is bathed in starlight pouring down from Crowley's skylight. He seems almost fey, not the Aziraphale Crowley has known for so long, especially here, in the bed where Crowley has wanted and never really hoped for him to be.

"Are you still tired?" Aziraphale asks. "You can go back to sleep. I think we have some time yet."

"I'm alright." Now that Crowley isn't falling over himself from weariness, he can't imagine losing any more of this to unconsciousness. "Besides, we still need to figure out what to do. Agnes Nutter's really one for the cryptic, isn't she?"

"Sometimes," Aziraphale hums. "I read through her book while I had it, and while some of her prophecies are obvious, many are only straightforward in hindsight."

Now that they're both awake, and have professed intentions of staying that way, Crowley expects Aziraphale to slide out of bed, move the conversation somewhere less intimate. He does not, though. Aziraphale stays where he is, gentle eyes fixed on Crowley from across the distance of a pillow.

If Aziraphale is not going to make a move to leave, Crowley is not going to suggest they do. His bed has never felt warmer.

Aziraphale closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, his face has gained a determined set. "But we still have time to decipher this one," he says. "There is something else I'd like to say to you, Crowley. Several things you've been waiting for long enough as it is. My acknowledgement that we're on our own side is the least of them."

Crowley's breath catches as hope suddenly chokes him. He expertly pushes the hope down, forces his body to resume normal breathing. "Not the least, Aziraphale."

This on its own would be enough to sustain him for the rest of their lives, however long those may be.

"Perhaps not, then." Aziraphale gives a strange little laugh, almost pained. "How easily you say such things. You are...you have always been so much braver than I am, my dear. I've always admired you for that."

"Hey, hey," Crowley chides. "Which of us kept trying to run away from Armageddon, and would have given up at the airbase, and which of us kept insisting there was still something we could do to stop it?"

"Which of us first came up with the idea of preventing Armageddon altogether," Aziraphale counters, "and did not in fact run away despite all those opportunities? That's what I _ mean_, Crowley. You question what I would never dare to, and stand up even when you're frightened."

"Questioning hasn't always worked out for me," Crowley reminds him, blinking at him pointedly.

"But you still do it!" Aziraphale cries, then winces at the echo and lowers his voice again. "When I get even a minor reprimand, I'm afraid to do it again, but you just _ do _. I...I envy that, sometimes."

"You do it too, when it's something you think is important," Crowley reminds him, shifting the slightest bit closer. "Who gave his God-given flaming sword to the humans before I even met him, huh? You were defending them then, and you were defending them today. Gabriel basically yelled at you and you just waved at him."

"That's the thing, though. There's something terribly important that I haven't been standing up for, and you have." 

And Aziraphale reaches out under the covers, slides his fingers along Crowley's wrist, and takes his hand.

Crowley's entire body shivers. 

_ And I thought the _ bus _ was nearly too much. _ All of his attention has focused down to his wrist, still tingling, and hand, warm and almost daring to start perspiring. _ I thought him getting into _ bed _ with me was too much. _

As always, Aziraphale pushes the boundaries of what he thinks he can handle.

He hears Aziraphale swallow and take in a deep breath, and while he can't bring himself to _ disregard _ the feeling of Aziraphale's hand in his own, most of his attention returns to the angel's face.

"I owe you an apology, Crowley. For many things. I'm sorry that it took me so long to realize that Heaven was undeserving of my loyalty. I'm sorry that I kept telling you I didn't like you when the truth is that I like you very much. I'm sorry that I've been too afraid to really show you what you mean to me. I--"

"Angel, stop," Crowley says, in agony. How could he have known that it would _ hurt _ to get so much of what he wants all at once? He's never truly expected Aziraphale, a great deal _ holier-than-Crowley_, to step onto Crowley's level enough to offer earnest apology for the things that hurt the most. Especially when he _ understands_. "It's not like you didn't have reason to be afraid."

"Yes, but I can still regret that my constant pulling back hurt you." Aziraphale squeezes his hand, his eyes wide and painfully earnest. "I can regret that it means I may only have tonight to show you properly. For all this time, I've been afraid that Hell would destroy you for associating with me, and oh Crowley, I couldn't bear to be the cause of your destruction--"

"And now that's the least of my crimes," Crowley cuts in. Now he reaches out and covers Aziraphale's hand with his other one, so it lies clasped in both of his. "And associating with me is the least of yours. But now is also when we have a clue to handling it. It worked out, angel."

"It hasn't worked out _ yet_," Aziraphale snaps. "You're far too cavalier with your life, you know."

"You keep talking about the danger to _ me_," Crowley points out. It's a pattern he's noticed and tried not to overanalyze. "Are you not afraid for _ yourself _ at all?"

Aziraphale makes this strange...half-grimace, half-smile. "I have been afraid for me as well, of course," he says. "But it's never been…" He sighs. "I always...trusted that Heaven would be inclined towards mercy, I suppose. If they'd discovered me with you, I thought I would probably be recalled and likely demoted. If they'd understood the extent of our interactions and Arrangement, or if our relationship...evolved, and they'd noticed, perhaps they would have...cast me out. And I did fear that, but I never thought they would destroy me the way I thought Hell would destroy you."

Crowley swallows against his dry mouth and says, "You certainly seemed like you were afraid of being cast out. All those reminders about how you're an angel and I'm a demon."

Aziraphale winces, squeezing Crowley's hand. "I know. I _ am _ sorry about that. Too often it was more a reminder to myself than you, but it was still cruel. And if it helps, I'm not afraid of that anymore."

"You're _ not_?" 

Falling is still Crowley's worst memory, and at this point he's had a lot of traumatic memories to choose from. It's hard to beat what felt like the very essence of him wrenched away, trying to pull himself together around the emptiness of where Love used to be.

Though _ there is no our side...it's over _ comes close. 

Aziraphale shakes his head. His eyes, big and earnest, look like liquid silver in the starlight. "I was afraid of losing myself. You've never told me what the Fall is like, and I'm not asking now, but I do know it's bad. Still, it's an event, not a lifetime, and it was the lifetime afterward that scared me. I like being kind, and compassionate, and, and _ soft _. I like giving blessings to people who appreciate them. I like giving people joy. I didn't want to lose that."

Crowley swallows again. "Angel," he starts, but Aziraphale's finger on his lips silences him.

"I'm not afraid of that anymore, Crowley," he says, intent, his eyes somehow even bigger and more luminous. "Because of _ you_. For so long I noticed and appreciated but never truly let myself think about your kindness, your generosity, your _ selflessness _, because letting myself think about that felt like the wobble that would bring the house of cards that was my faith in Heaven tumbling down, and I wasn't ready for that yet. I'm sorry for that, dearest, but I can face it now. If I should Fall, I can be like you."

It's just as well that Crowley doesn't need to breathe, because he can't. His throat is locked, too many emotions stopping his tongue. "Angel," he finally manages, raspy. "Don't--it's not--" He grimaces and shakes his head, still unsure how to order his thoughts. "You weren't _ wrong _ . I am a demon, and have been one even when I performed blessings in your stead. Maybe I don't do the big evil things that I took credit for anyway, but I spread a lot of evil when I give fifty million people a bad day, knowing they're going to take it out on each other. You _ can't _ say you're not afraid of being evil because of my example."

Aziraphale shakes his head. "I know that, dearest," he says, and, while Crowley is trying to breathe through _ dearest, again_, continues, "But you only test them, and they decide what to do with it. They could take their bad day out on other people, or they could rise above it, or their loved ones can take the opportunity to comfort them. That's not my point, though, because Crowley, even when you _ do _ cause real evil, you still also do so much good. Having done evil doesn't mean you can't do good. You still have the choice, and even if I do Fall, I would have the choice too. I _ could _ be a demon and nice."

Delight spreads through him, warm and syrupy, and he can't even be properly aggravated at the way Aziraphale has just neutralized Crowley's protests about _ four letter words_. "You tricky bastard," he says, too fondly, and when Aziraphale beams in response, the delight in Crowley's veins strengthens until he has to shiver from it.

Aziraphale scoots closer and tangles his feet with Crowley's. Crowley immediately wants to snake around him and hold him close, even while maintaining his human limbs, but he restrains himself to just scooting closer himself.

He can do that, he thinks. Fifty years ago, he told himself that he would let Aziraphale take the lead and had resigned himself to maybe never getting to hold Aziraphale the way he wanted, but here they are now. Crowley moves his hand to wrap his arm around Aziraphale's waist, and Aziraphale shifts even closer, until they're pressed together.

He can't lose this, not now. Heaven and Hell will want their pound of flesh and more, but Aziraphale is here, in bed with him, holding him and telling him beautiful things. This _ can't _ be all they have. 

Just hours ago, he thought he'd lost Aziraphale. Even if the fire had been normal fire, not hellfire, he hadn't been able to feel Aziraphale on Earth anymore. It was Armageddon. Heaven would never issue him another body and let him come back to Crowley.

But he found his way back anyway. Right back to Crowley.

Crowley shifts his head to nuzzle against Aziraphale's forehead, closing his eyes. They're breathing each other's air.

He'd wished he could have taken Aziraphale in after he'd been discorporated, possible explosion or not. There'd been nothing more he'd wanted than to keep Aziraphale close, held within him, safe from any fire. 

_ Oh. _

"_Angel. _ I have an idea."

_ Choose your faces wisely, for soon you shall be playing with fire. _


End file.
